Blood and Blasterfire
by Jet Nebula
Summary: Original story based in the SWTOR time frame - no plot spoilers for the game. Sometimes the universe is more complicated than just the Light Side and the Dark Side. Sometimes, the grey area in between is what makes all the difference. Adventure, drama, romance, and a bit of dry humour abound. Contains adult themes.
1. Holland

_Author's Notes :_ The plot of this story is 100% original, and while it takes place during Bioware's _The Old Republic_, and is based on our characters/adventures within the game, there will be absolutely no storyline spoilers for any classes, and this should be read as a separate entity. The characters within are based on my own and one of my best friend's characters within the game that go by the same names as they do in this story.

It is _rated M for a reason_; while I would not classify this as a lemon, there are situations of a sexual nature all the same, so if you don't like that, this story may not be for you.

I wrote 97% of this story at my horrible job at a grocery store, literally scribbling it down secretly in a small notebook between customers as ideas came to me. And that is how the rest of it will probably be written as well, or at least major parts of it. And I do intend to continue to write.

Finally, I am currently reading _A Game of Thrones _and was inspired by George R. R. Martin's style of telling each chapter from a certain character's perspective and naming the chapter after that character, so that is how I am doing this as well! Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

_Disclaimer _: I do not own _Star Wars _or _SWTOR_; if I did, there would probably be a lot more scandals.

* * *

**Blood and Blasterfire**

_Chapter One – Holland_

It had all started as a fairly average day on Nar Shaddaa – well, as average as a day on the Smuggler's Moon could ever be, meaning, nothing out of character for that location had been occurring. Holland, a young cyborg human male with messy, sandy blonde hair and the typical 'charming' attitude that many smugglers adopted to talk their way past authority figures and often into the bunks of their chosen variety of mates, was drinking another night away at one of the many smaller cantinas that littered the surface of the moon. He preferred the smaller cantinas to the large, main ones – they attracted less fewer tourists that didn't really understand Nar Shaddaa beyond the spaceport and the main Promenade, and he had the option to spend the evening either completely anonymous as he had no obligation to ever return to the same one, or as the centre of attention because he had less competition than at a larger establishment. Holland typically chose the latter, lavishing in the attention he brought upon himself either playing sabaac or telling stories at the bar or charming the dancers when management wasn't looking.

However, he had just finished quite a dangerous run, and had been forced to cut a share of the profits to even get out of the difficult situation the drop had put him in. He wasn't above taking bribes himself – he lived from one day to the next when it came to credits – but that meant he had to pay them out sometimes as well to get by. Thus, what should have been a large chunk of credits in his pocket had become a barely respectable amount, and considering he had almost lost his ship – not to mention his life – he was stuck nursing a sore ego rather than celebrating a grand victory. But it had been either lose the credits or take a hit to his reputation, and with as many smugglers as there seemed to be these days, he needed to maintain the reputation he had worked so hard to develop.

Holland was young – younger even than he ever told anyone, always able to lie with a convincing smile. However, his physical looks betrayed him more often than not. Some people didn't mind hiring young spacers, knowing they were more likely to get the job done faster by cutting unnecessary corners and weren't afraid to take risks. On the other hand, many of those with the big, important, high-paying jobs preferred professionalism and experience, and what they assumed would be someone with a cooler head and a more rational mind. Thus, Holland's reputation was even more important if he wanted to maintain his current lifestyle. Joining the Republic or the Empire was out of the question (and he had been asked by both after completing various jobs that had caused him to cross paths with them now and again), and he had few other skills outside of those he used for his current profession of choice.

Thus, the young captain sat in a corner of the small cantina, slowly drinking his fourth Corellian ale of the night. He had gone through the first three rather quickly, but his current budget crunch meant if he wanted to stay in the cantina all evening, he needed to slow down on the drinks, as much as he just wanted to put as many back as he could. He absently watched the two female twi'leks dancing in front of him, only half-interested as he ran the smuggling run and bribe conversation over and over again in his head, looking for a loophole to use in the future.

Thanks to his state of distraction – and probably the ale a bit, too – he didn't see the Miraluka female approach until she dropped into the chair across from his, blocking his view of the dancers for the most part and forcing his attention to her.

Holland was startled back into the present by her sudden appearance, and he blinked a few times as he forced his mind to focus through the drink. The woman before him had most of her features hidden by a brown cloak, the hood drawn to cover most of her face and hair, though he could see a bit of blonde hair, a bit darker than his own, escaping from the confines of the clothing. Further obscuring her features was a mask that covered her face basically from the nose up, disappearing under her hood. It was this mask above everything else that betrayed her as a Miraluka rather than a human. However, despite the obstructions, Holland could guess from what he could see that she was attractive – or at least he was pretty sure she was. From the nose down at any rate.

"Can I help you?" he asked the female, trying to sound suave but not quite managing it at the moment.

"Are you Holland?" her question was delivered in a deadpan tone, her posture rigid, looking like she could spring up from her seat at any moment.

"Well, that depends," Holland gave the expected answer, his own tone more casual now as he leaned forward over the table, trying to get a better look at her. Her general lack of emotion made him uncomfortable; it made it hard for him to guess her intentions. "And I'm sure there are lots of Hollands out here anyway."

"Blonde male, human, cybernetic eye, arrogant attitude, usually found watching cantina dancers of whatever variety the establishment is current providing," her voice was still monotone, and it was clear she was just reciting what she had been told.

Holland smiled anyway, his curiosity piqued about who was going around delivering this description of him – avid as it may be – and what this female wanted. "Guilty as charged," he then said, throwing up his hands in feigned defeat before taking another slow drink. "You're not here to arrest me, are you?" he then asked, his tone just a hint more dangerous. "Because that's not going to end well for us."

Holland knew he was not going to be able to deny that description had been of him – but whether she was looking for him for a job or as a target he was uncertain. While he kept one hand on his drink, the other hand taken the time during his last slow drag of the ale to pull his offhand pistol from its holster, and he had it aimed at the Miraluka under the table. Being ambidextrous and thus able to wield a blaster in each hand was one of the smuggler's prized skills, and often gave him an element of surprise.

But apparently not this time. "The only way this will not end well is if you do not holster that weapon," the female replied, and this time, her previously unemotional voice had turned threatening. "If I were here to take you in, I would have done it while you were unguarded and busy watching those dancers."

"Ah, finally!" Holland exclaimed, hiding the fact that his girl was actually intimidating him a bit – and had made a good point – by playing off her threat as best he could. "You're showing a personality – and it's a lively side at that."

"Cut the act," the Miraluka cut him off before he could say more with a dark tone, "I don't have time for cute games."

"You think it's cute?" Holland pressed, a smug expression on his face.

"I said shut up," the female was clearly not impressed, "And put the blaster away. I'm not buying your act."

"Tragically it's not an act, gorgeous," the boy replied with a casual shrug, but he did holster his weapon – for now. His hand didn't move from the butt of the blaster, though, and he was confident that he could draw it again quickly if necessary. He far from trusted this girl, and still wasn't certain how she knew he had drawn the weapon in the first place. That trick usually worked; there was something different about this girl. "I'm actually always like this," he continued.

"Pity," the Miraluka said coldly, and an uncomfortable silence settled between them as Holland continued to try unsuccessfully to read her. Not being able to look into her eyes was very unsettling – the captain had not had many dealings with Miraluka in the past, and this was probably the longest conversation he had ever had with one, anyway.

"So," he then began, breaking the silence as he absently ran a finger around the rim of his glass, "You're not here to arrest me, and if you came just to flirt – not that I would blame you – a drunk nexu would probably be doing a better job. So who are you, and why are you interrupting my evening?" To emphasize his point, Holland gestured to the drink with one hand and the twi'leks with the other, a bit over-dramatically.

"My name is Aelias," the Miraluka began, "I need passage away from this planet – subtly, no questions, and tonight." She had returned to her business tone much to Holland's disappointment.

The blonde boy didn't say anything for a few moments, giving her time to say more if she chose, but he knew it was wishful thinking. "Sounds suspicious," he then finally replied.

The female let out an audible sigh of exasperation, standing up sharply and suddenly. "I was told that where there were credits involved, you wouldn't care – I obviously have been misinformed, and you are wasting my time."

"Whoa, sweetheart, slow down," Holland said, hoping to cut off her retreat. "You said the magic word – and you can't blame me for being cautious. I'd already be dead if I wasn't." Aelias seemed to consider his words for a few moments as she stood in silence before giving him a curt nod, which encouraged him to continue. "Where is it you need to go, and how much are you offering?" Holland asked, his own tone now much more business-like as well. If this could just be an easy job, maybe he could make up for his last one a bit, especially if this was as easy as passenger transport usually was…

"Into Republic space – I will tell you the exact planet once we have left Nar Shaddaa and its prying ears," Aelias replied coolly, dropping her voice a bit as she slowly sank back into the chair. "I can pay you 4000 credits, plus the cost of your fuel."

Holland stared at her unblinking for several moments as he mulled the decision over in his head. 4000 credits was certainly a nice addition to his wallet, and if she was paying for fuel it would be nearly pure profit. However, not being willing to tell him an exact destination meant she had a reason to hide it – and the smuggler wasn't sure if he wanted to get involved in whatever she was involved in. "What's the catch?" he asked her slowly, raising his one good eyebrow.

"There isn't one if we leave soon and don't draw unnecessary attention to ourselves," Aelias replied, giving him what he assumed was a knowing look, though between the hood and the mask it was hard to tell for certain.

"Point taken," Holland said, quickly draining what was left of his ale. "You've got yourself a pilot."

Holland just hoped this really would be a quick and easy job – something to salve both his bank account and his ego. As the pair left the cantina, he sent a silent prayer up to whatever Corellian god may be listening – gods he conveniently only believed in when he needed to – in a desperate plea that he hadn't just made a massive mistake.

* * *

Their entrance onto Holland's ship was met with an instant, "Welcome back, Master Holland, though I must say you return is much earlier than I expected. I believe you said you would be planetside for the remainder of the night—"

"I know what I said, Rusty, but plans change!" Holland cut off the C2-N2 droid unit, which he had affectionately given a personal pet name to despite endless protests by the droid itself, before it could continue on what was certain to be a lengthy rant.

"As usual, Master Holland, of course," Rusty replied, moving aside to allow the two sentient beings to pass him. "Oh, a female visitor as well? Also as usual, I now understand your change of plans. Shall I prepare—"

"Can it," Holland ordered, his face flushing only briefly at the droid's observation, but Aelias' demeanour thankfully remained unchanged.

Rusty had passed into Holland's possession along with the ship when their previous owner had died. Both had belonged to a man named Proximo, a smuggler with more heart than common sense – or credits, for that matter. He wasn't in smuggling for the money; he was in it to help people however he could, especially the Republic. Actually, in the years Holland had known him, Proximo had never taken a job that would help the Empire. Most smugglers chose not to take sides in the long war, taking credits from whomever was giving them out, but Proximo had been different.

The older man had taken Holland from the small spaceport in a little backwards town on Corellia when Holland had been just barely twelve years old. He had run away from home, determined to leave the planet and see the stars however he could, and while most of the spacers he encountered scolded him and told him to go home, Proximo had listened to his dream and offered to take him on his ship if Holland was willing to work hard to earn his keep. In hindsight, the man had probably just been getting too old to do all the manual labour required to operate a starship effectively, and he was more than likely lonely with only a protocol droid for company. But the young Holland jumped at the opportunity, lying and telling the old man he was sixteen. Proximo had more than likely seen straight through that unbelievable tale, but had humoured Holland and had never brought up the issue again. While Proximo served as a father figure to Holland as he grew, he never treated the boy as anything other than an equal.

Proximo had taught Holland everything that he knew, and he had travelled with the other man for a little over three years when disaster had struck. The pair had been helping a 'friend' of Proximo's – the older smuggler never said no when asked a favour – when the ship they were on had been attacked by the Empire. The pilot had gotten away, rescued by his true Imperial friends, while Holland and Proximo had been left to die in a powerless, abandoned, permanently damaged ship.

Proximo had died, the cold of deep space and the severity of his injuries proving too much for the old man to recover from. However, by the mercy of whatever fate determined the chain of events in the universe, the ship was boarded by a passing pirate crew that had rescued Holland. He survived, but only through the cybernetic implants that now kept him alive.

The pirates had been no friends of the Empire, and a few of them took pity on the young boy they assumed had lost everything, leaving a small amount of credits for him to use after he recovered from his injuries and adjusted to a life sustained by cybernetics. Holland had spent nearly all of those credits on passage to Coruscant, where Proximo had left the ship, and with nowhere else to go and no one to stop him, he 'inherited' the ship – and the droid – by default. And thus the boy had simply continued on his own, using Proximo's contacts as well as developing his own.

That had been a little over a year ago, and in only a year the young cyborg had made quite a name for himself. In honour of Proximo, he still did not do deals with the Empire, but Holland stayed away from the Republic as much as possible as well. He had learned from Proximo's mistake that you lived longer if you stayed neutral – and Holland's sense of self-preservation was very strong.

The ship left Nar Shaddaa with thankfully no problems, and once they had broken the moon's atmosphere, Holland turned to the female that sat silently in the co-pilot's seat. "Well?" he prompted her, "You're the only one that knows where we are going."

"Tython," Aelias said simply before rising from the seat and leaving the cockpit.

Holland didn't move at all for a few moments as he considered her announcement. Tython? That was one planet he had never been to, and with good reason – there wasn't much there aside from farms…and Holland had overheard from an overly chatty twi'lek once that there were a lot of Jedi there, but that had been just an offhand remark coming from the mouth of a rather intoxicated being…

As Holland began to punch in the coordinates that would take them to Tython, he stopped suddenly. That…actually made sense. Her generally stoic demeanour, the brown cloak, the secrecy, and now the desire to go to Tython – it all made sense. Could it be possible that Aelias was a Jedi of all things? And he had just gotten involved with a Jedi, with the Republic, in the middle of some sort of scheme that he usually tried his hardest to completely avoid?

Oh, this wasn't good. Completely unacceptable. And yet he was already in this far. With reluctance, the smuggler punched in the remaining numbers for their destination, and after the ship made the jump to hyperspace, he left Rusty in charge of the cockpit with orders to only bother him if completely necessary, and he went in search of Aelias.

It was time for some real answers.

* * *

The ship really wasn't very big so it didn't take long to find Aelias sitting in the small kitchen. Holland stopped in the doorway when he saw her, leaning sideways against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. "So you're a Jedi," he stated bluntly.

The female turned her head slightly to look at him but her expression didn't change. "You're jumping to conclusions," she said simply, calmly.

"Not as much as you would probably like to believe," Holland replied coolly, and then shook his head. "Look, whatever, I don't care what you are as long as I don't get tied up in your madness."

"You are more observant than you look," Aelias replied after a short pause, and then continued with, "Yes, I am a member of the Jedi Order, and I promise I am not trying to get you of all people involved in anything. I don't see why you are getting so upset."

"I'm not getting upset!" Holland exclaimed a little too quickly and a little too loudly. He took a sharp breath and then said, "I mean – I guess I just wish you would have said something or…something. Not that you really had a reason to I guess. I mean..." His usually smooth tongue was failing him miserably. He chose to blame the influence of the ale over any other explanation he would rather not entertain. "I don't know," he finally said, feeling a bit defeated.

A smile pulled at the corners of Aelias' lips. Holland got the feeling she kind of liked seeing him suffer a bit. "I didn't say anything because I didn't want you to turn the job down based on this," she then explained, "and because it was not the business of anyone who may have been listening in."

"That's kind of like lying, you know," Holland said pointedly, "I thought Jedi were not supposed to do stuff like that."

The smile fell from Aelias' face and she turned away from him at that. "You don't know the Jedi very well."

Holland frowned at her quick change of mood, finally fully entering the small room. "Come on, Aelias, for a minute you were actually fun!" he teased her, but when she didn't react, he decided to go for a different approach. "Do you want a drink? I have just about anything you can probably think of and it's gonna be about fifteen hours until we get to Tython."

"Are you really sure another drink is what you need?" Aelias asked him sceptically, "You're technically flying this ship and I would prefer to arrive at Tython alive."

Holland was not able to hold in a laugh that escaped at her accusation. "Sweetheart, believe me, I can hold my drinks quite well – and I know for a fact I can fly this old girl drunk if I have to anyway. Plus, Rusty is programmed to be able to do basic flight manoeuvres, so I swear on my honour we'll be fine."

"Somehow I don't think something sworn on your 'honour' is something I can really depend on," the Jedi remarked, but the corners of her mouth were twitching into the beginnings of a smile again.

"Ouch, that's cold, even for a Jedi," Holland replied, feigning offense but actually pleased she was lightening up a bit. Maybe she just needed to be away from Nar Shaddaa or something. Anyway, it was better than the possibility of having an extremely boring companion for the journey. "There's more honour than you think in this lifestyle – it's just not in the form you usually expect."

"I know your type all too well," Aelias countered.

"I am going to take that as a challenge," Holland replied, opening up one of the cabinets and pulling out an unlabelled bottle full of some dark liquid, which he sat on the table in front of her. "I promise, you don't know me." He popped the lid off the bottle, took a small drink, and then handed it to her. "Sorry, no glasses. I don't normally entertain."

"Your droid said otherwise," the Miraluka stated, her tone rather dry.

"Ah, you heard that, then?" Holland asked, just a touch sheepishly, before taking another quick drink himself, "Well, most people are never offered any drinks from my private collection." He didn't add that the people he normally brought back to his ship weren't there for very long, and he rarely ever saw them again.

"I guess I should feel special," Aelias remarked, still quite dryly, then gingerly took the bottle, examining its contents. "What is this anyway?"

"Just a little something I picked up along the way," the captain said with a casual shrug.

The Jedi continued to stare at the drink for a few seconds longer, and then finally brought the bottle to her lips, surprising Holland by taking a long drink. "Fifteen hours, you said?" she asked as she handed the bottle back to him, a genuine smile now gracing her features.

* * *

A few hours later, the contents of the bottle were gone, and the two sentients were talking comfortably. Aelias had since thrown back her hood, revealing blonde hair pulled up into a high ponytail. Seeing her whole face sans what was obscured by the mask revealed young features, and Holland wondered briefly to himself if she was close to his own age. He never asked, however – that wasn't a conversation he would willingly enter with anyone, let alone initiate. It had also revealed that his suspicions had been right – she was indeed very pretty, and there was something about her mask that made her have a very exotic appeal that Holland was admittedly very drawn to.

"So, is it too forward to ask you what you were doing on Nar Shaddaa?" Holland finally asked Aelias the question he had been curious about for some time now. He assumed the smuggler's moon was probably not a place Jedi frequented without reason, and he wanted to know what had been going on.

"A bit, yes," Aelias replied, "But my business there was…my own. Not the Order's."

"Vacation? Relaxing a bit? Trying to be less stressed with the cure of a drink and a kiss?" Holland asked curiously, only half-joking.

"No – just because it was Nar Shaddaa does not mean I was there for the…eh…entertainment value," Aelias said, and her tone showed that she was unlikely to say more on the subject.

Curiosity about Nar Shaddaa temporarily sated, Holland took the conversation in a different direction. "What does a Jedi do to kick back, anyway?" he asked, folding his hands behind his head, "You can't be stoic and philosophical all the time."

"You've clearly never met any of the Masters," Aelias replied coolly, shaking her head, "but most Jedi meditate, I guess, to relax. Focus on the Force." She shrugged.

"And what about you?" Holland pressed, noting that she had only answered generally, not personally.

Aelias smirked. Holland wasn't sure if it was the drink or the fact that they had been talking for a while, but she was definitely showing a more comfortable side of herself, and that pleased him greatly. "I have ways of relaxing, but I'm not sure how it's of any interest to you," she finally replied.

"Looks like you don't know what I'm interested in," Holland remarked, leaning forward across the table towards her.

"I think I know quite well what interests you," Aelias replied, also leaning across the table, folding her arms on the surface.

"You see, there you are back to assuming you know my 'type' and all about me," Holland challenged.

"Care to prove me wrong then?" the Miraluka countered, slowly leaning away from him again, though her eyeless gaze never left him.

"Not really, to be honest," Holland replied, trusting his instinct rather than really thinking as he typically did as he leaned further across the table to place a rather chaste kiss on her lips. It certainly wasn't the fastest he had ever moved, and while it partially was probably induced by the drinks, Holland was nearly certain she wouldn't reject his move – and maybe even wanted it, too.

He wasn't disappointed.

Aelias bought a hand up to the back of his head, holding him there as she initiated a more proper kiss between the two of them. Holland didn't pull away from her until his body began to cramp up from awkwardly leaning over the table between them, and he was eventually forced to part from her. He only moved far enough away that the pain ebbed, though, and he did nothing to hide the self-satisfied expression on his face.

"I wondered how long you were going to keep talking before you finally did that," Aelias then said smugly. "I could tell you wanted to all the way back at the cantina."

The satisfied look immediately fell from the smuggler's face, not pleased with the position she had put him in when he had just been in control, at least from his viewpoint. "Oh yeah?" Holland retorted, sinking quickly back into his seat. "If I was, it was only because I had been drinking." He crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly, clearly pouting.

Aelias' mouth went agape for a moment, offended, before she quickly rose from the table. "You are nothing more than another space rat," she said coldly, moving to leave the room.

Holland jumped up from his seat, determined to salvage some piece of his pride from this, blocking her escape. He knew she could probably get past him, being a Jedi and all, but he chose to ignore that fact. "I already told you," he began, his own voice quite cold to match hers, "I'm not just another guy."

"Like I haven't heard that before," Aelias replied, moving to duck past him.

Holland really wasn't sure where he had completely lost control of the situation – they had been getting along okay, and she had indeed kissed him back, but this was a dramatic turn of events in a direction he didn't like, and they still had probably twelve hours or so to Tython.

"Aelias," he said her name as he grabbed her arm to keep her from escaping. She quickly pulled free from his grip and moved into the corridor, though she went no further. Holland took that as permission to continue. "Okay, yeah, since I met you I was kind of attracted to you. Happy? But admit it – you wanted this too." His expression was one of pure determination.

"I've had more than my share of kissing men I never desired," Aelias replied softly, her face suddenly quite solemn.

While Holland didn't completely understand what she was implying about her past from that, he did know what it implied when it came to him. And he wasted no more time.

The smuggler quickly closed the distance between the two of them, deciding that it was probably in his best interest at the moment to use his mouth for something other than talking. One hand quickly snaked around her waist, and the other slammed into the wall of the corridor behind the Jedi as his lips met hers once more. In the narrow space of the corridor, Aelias was pinned between Holland and the wall, but she didn't protest as one of her hands lost itself in his messy hair and the other solidly gripped his upper arm. This kiss was considerably more aggressive than their previous one, all experimentation and careful curiosity abandoned. It wasn't long before Holland began to run his tongue along the female's lips, demanding the right to a deeper kiss, which the Miraluka allowed as the two began to battle for dominance. Both were far too stubborn to back down, and Holland continued to press his weight into Aelias more and more as she was pushed impossibly closer to the wall. Meanwhile, her grip on his arm was vicelike, and only grew tighter at the boy's advances.

Finally, a desperate need for air forced the two apart, but neither made any effort to move otherwise. After a couple of deep breaths, Holland couldn't keep himself from saying, "So you _desired_ me? 'Desire' is a pretty strong word."

"Stop talking," Aelias cut him off with a quick dark look before she initiated another deep kiss to really silence him.

When Holland broke the kiss this time, it was to begin to plant rather sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along her jawline and beginning to work his way down her neck. However the girl craned her neck in an attempt to give him better access, though, her heavy brown robe was still blocking most of her. "Well, gorgeous, looks like this will have to be the first thing to go," the cyborg stated with a shrug, and without waiting for permission, he pushed the robes from her slight frame and they fell to a pile at her feet.

Holland took a couple of steps back, allowing Aelias to step out of the robe pile and allowing him to finally see her without the bulky and obstructive layer of clothing. She was wearing a short, form-fitting sleeveless top that revealed her pale, toned stomach, her arms partly covered by long gloves that reached to her elbows. Her trousers were tucked into knee-high boots and rested low on her hips, held in place by a belt with had two lightsaber hilts that were now quite hard to miss. The outfit was mostly browns, greys, and greens, and while the colours were neutral, it was covered with an intricate design. Holland quickly drew the conclusion that she was more than likely a formidable melee opponent – he had never heard of a Jedi wielding two lightsabers at once, and her tight fitting clothing was probably meant to allow her to move freely.

However, Holland was definitely seeing a few more perks to the outfit than battle functionality. "So, do all Jedi have this hiding under their robes?" he asked, letting his gaze rake over her body without even trying to hide the action.

Aelias shrugged. "My outfit happens to be very practical," she replied.

"Yeah. Practical," the smuggler repeated, admittedly not really listening any more as he pulled her against him, feeling her body flush against his finally without that extra layer; he hadn't realised how annoying it had been until it was gone. "Now where was I?"

The Jedi smirked, and then tilted her head to the side, exposing considerably more fair flesh than previously, and Holland gladly went back to trailing kisses along her smooth skin. When he reached the junction of her neck and shoulder, he used his teeth to nip at the sensitive flesh there, and felt her shudder in his arms. Suddenly, though, she quickly put a hand to his chest and pushed him back roughly. In that moment, the captain was reminded of her strong physical prowess – something he probably should not quickly forget.

"Don't leave marks on me where everyone can see them," Aelias then ordered coldly, rubbing at the spot where his teeth had been teasing her only moments ago.

Holland frowned. "What, don't want anyone to see the souvenirs from your interplanetary trip?" he asked her dryly.

Aelias' frown matched his. "It's my own business what I do, and the Order doesn't need to know about everything," she said, tone still cold, "Romantic pursuits are forbidden."

Holland's crestfallen mood immediately perked up at her words, and he grinned. "So this is all taboo and forbidden for you?" his voice betrayed both his satisfaction and his excitement. "Well, that just makes it better."

As the male moved to resume their previous actions, the Miraluka held him at bay once more with a strong arm. "No marks. No talking about this. And no lasting consequences – or this doesn't happen. Deal, flyboy?"

Holland feigned contemplation for a few moments before ducking away from her arm and slipping behind her, hands on her waist and lips at her ear. "Deal, Jedi," he then said, his voice low, "I'll find somewhere less obvious to leave a few marks for you to remember me by." With that, he left a few kisses on her ear and a quick nip and suck of her earlobe to seal the deal as he ran his hands along her hips – and wished he hadn't worn gloves that day.

"Got anywhere better than the hallway?" Aelias asked him before he could do more, pushing her hips backwards against his briefly and eliciting a short grunt from the boy.

"You got it, sweetheart," Holland replied, placing one last quick kiss just below her ear before pulling her by her waist towards his quarters.

Despite it being usually only himself and Rusty on the ship, Holland kept the door to his personal quarters locked, enjoying the added sense of privacy it gave him. He quickly punched in the security code and the door slid open, revealing a fairly simple room, sparsely decorated and just a touch messy with a few haphazard objects like articles of clothing and blaster power cells making it appear at least lived in. The bed was also unmade – keeping the door locked meant the protocol droid didn't often get the chance to straighten up in Holland's personal quarters as it did the rest of the ship. Absently, Holland thought that maybe he should have made the bed the last time he had actually slept in it, but it was a bit late for that now; and it really wasn't going to matter, anyway.

"Well, Captain?" Aelias prompted, hands on her hips as she began to slowly back towards the bed, a smirk on her face.

Holland met her smirk with his own; he liked few things more than being called 'captain' in this context. "I hope you're ready, Jedi," he replied, moving to pull her roughly into his arms and into another kiss.

"Don't call me that again. Please," Aelias said formally as she pulled away for only a moment, and before Holland could say anything or question her, again she was silencing him with her lips. And to add to his distraction this time, her hands moved to pull his shirt from where it was unevenly tucked into his trousers. When her cool fingers brushed against the smuggler's bare skin, the trail they left on his hips and abdomen seemed to burn.

Holland tended to be impatient about most things, and this was no different. Wanting more of that feeling, he pulled away to slip his vest off and pull his shirt over his head, and then his gloves finally joined the mix of clothes on the floor. Naked from the waist up, the full extent of the damage to Holland's body was clearly visible. Aside from the rampant scars both from the accident and from various other encounters, several other cybernetic pieces adorned his torso. His right arm was also revealed to be completely cybernetic from the elbow down, a trait that had been completely concealed by his carefully selected clothing. He could feel Aelias' gaze upon him, and wondered just how she saw him through her Miraluka vision anyway – all he could remember was that despite having no eyes, they weren't a blind species, obviously. How they did see escaped him, but he frankly didn't care much, either.

"You know, I've never been with a Miraluka before," Holland said on that note, revelling in the feeling of the bare skin of her smooth stomach finally against his fingertips as he brushed them over her.

"Congratulations on your achievement," Aelias replied dryly, her own hands lightly tracing the lines of his chest. "That's not a very romantic sentiment, though."

"I didn't take you for the romantic type," the smugger replied, smirking.

Aelias didn't reply for a moment, and when she did, she actually sounded a bit wistful. "I suppose not," she said.

Holland didn't notice; instead, his hands had begun to deftly work at the ties holding her top on, which experienced fingers made quick work of. The athletic-style top under it was quickly pulled over her head as well, leaving the female just as exposed as he was. Aelias instinctively moved to cover herself but Holland caught her wrists in his right hand, the cybernetically enhanced grip powerful, and his other hand went straight to exploring the newly exposed territory. Her skin was gloriously soft and smooth under his rough touch, calloused fingertips leaving no part of her breasts unexplored.

The blonde boy grinned when small noises began to escape from Aelias' mouth, and he felt her arms tremble in his grip. When he heard her breaths begin to come sharper and sharper, he finally kissed her again, leaning his weight into her as he pushed her backwards the few remaining metres to the bed. When the back of Aelias' legs hit the side of the bed, however, she didn't fall as Holland had expected. Actually, she stood her ground quite firmly, managing to throw him off balance instead. In the moment his grip loosened, Aelias pulled her hands free and grabbed the boy's shoulders, forcefully switching their positions as she pushed Holland onto _his _back on the bed.

"I take it you like being in charge?" Holland asked smugly, propping himself comfortably up on his elbows after he had recovered.

Aelias didn't look very impressed. "I have my own reasons," was her sole explanation. "I allowed you to pin me in the corridor but it will not happen again. Do not try."

The smuggler frowned slightly – something was definitely up with this girl, and his natural curiosity was extremely intrigued even as he doubted he would ever find out. "You keep making up more and more rules, you know. Rules are hard to remember when you're not really used to following them," he stated.

"My terms, or we stop now," Aelias said stubbornly.

Holland let out an exasperated sigh, dramatically throwing himself down flat on the bed, arms and legs splayed. This usually wasn't so difficult, but his current physical state was not going to allow him to casually walk away from this, either. "Okay, you win," he said, his tone overly defeated, "Do what you want."

"Don't be such a child," the Miraluka chided, but Holland felt the distinct shift of additional weight on the bed that betrayed she was joining him. Aelias slowly crawled over him, her lips whispering over his flesh from his belt, across his torso, and up his neck to his mouth. "You talk too much, you know," she then said softly, not unkindly, before nipping at his lips a bit and finally kissing him fully. She hovered over him, propped up by her arms on either side of his head. Her body was torturously close without touching his, aside from her breasts, the tips of which ghosted teasingly against his chest. Holland kept up his defeated charade as long as he could, not moving and letting her do as she pleased, but he couldn't last forever. Finally he moved his arms, pulling her body possessively to his, and both of their bodies shuddered in unison at the flesh on flesh contact.

Feeling a sharp pain in his hip, Holland realized that they had both neglected to disarm, and the hilt of one of her lightsabers was jabbing into his flesh rather painfully – and with the way she was rolling her hips against his, it was only getting worse and worse. Fearing a bit for his body below the waist if one would ignite or something, he pulled rather aggressively at her belt. Finally Aelias took the hint and sat up, but her hands made quick work of his belt and dual holsters before she removed her own weapons. Neither were placed very far away – she clearly didn't trust him, but she understood that he had no reason to trust her, either.

As it should be.

As soon as his belt had been taken care of, Aelias wasted no time in undoing the smuggler's trousers as well, her expression the rather typical stoicism Holland was growing accustomed to as she focused on her work. Holland did still find it very unnerving that he was unable to look into her eyes, but bit his tongue rather than let another less than witty remark about it escape.

Instead, his fingers went to the lacings on her own leggings, undoing them and freeing her from everything else rather unceremoniously. Still nothing about this was romantic; that's not what he figured either of them were looking for. When nothing remained between them at last, Holland took a moment to drink in the sight of the exposed female before him – or at least as much as he could see from their position – before he gripped her hips, instinctively trying to flip them around so she was beneath him.

Before Holland even realized what had happened, he felt the wind knocked from his chest as he was pinned aggressively back to the bed – and he was pretty certain she hadn't even touched him. "What the…" he sputtered.

Aelias was frozen above him, hands pushed out in front of her, and her mouth was slightly agape. She quickly recovered though, the surprised expression falling from her face as she lowered her hands. "I'm…sorry," she then said slowly, softly, "I…I didn't mean to…to hurt you. I just don't trust you and acted on…instinct." She hung her head a bit, shifting to move off of him.

Holland didn't let her, however, and he held her in place with a firm grip. "You didn't hurt me; just surprised me a bit," he assured her, pushing himself up into a sitting position with her in his lap as he held her to his chest. He was still unsure what had happened or why, but he assumed it had more to do with her mysterious past or her Jedi training or something like that. He didn't know what to do now either, though; did he comfort her or something? How? Instead, he buried his face in her neck, kissing the heated skin there as he ran his hands up and down her sides and across her back until he felt her begin to relax again. "I was just following instincts, too, okay?" he then offered, murmuring into her skin. When she finally nodded and he heard her whimper softly at his touch, he lay back with his hands folded behind his head casually, at last smirking once more. "I mean, if you really wanna be on top, I certainly won't complain about the view," he stated.

The slightest of smiles pulled at the Jedi's lips, and she leaned down to kiss away the grin that had developed on the boy's face. While he was preoccupied with what she was doing with her tongue and her teeth, she reached down between them and finally touched him exactly where he wanted to be touched. Holland wasn't able to contain the surprised, pleasured noise that escaped his mouth at her ministrations, and it didn't take long before he could not even concentrate enough to keep kissing her.

Just when he was nearly at his breaking point, Aelias stopped, trailing her fingers up his chest as Holland groaned at her lack of contact. "Thank you," she then said softly, leaning down so that she was speaking directly into his ear, her voice barely above a whisper, "For understanding. I suppose maybe you aren't exactly like everyone else."

Holland's face flushed for a moment; he wasn't really used to being the nice, 'understanding' type, and the way that she spoke brought up a few emotions inside of him that he wasn't used to dealing with either. "Yeah, no problem," he then croaked out, shifting a bit beneath her even as he pressed his hips upwards against hers, full of need. "Just uh, don't get sentimental on me now, okay?"

Aelias shook her head, sitting up to perch herself above him one last time, her face blank again. "Jedi are the best at suppressing emotions, so you don't have to worry about that," she responded, before finally lowering herself down onto him and giving both of them what their bodies had been so desperately looking for.

* * *

Holland's breathing had finally returned to a normal pace as he lay with his head just below Aelias' chest, his one good hand absently trailing along the skin of her toned stomach. Neither of them said anything, and it was probably better that way as they both made their own personal recoveries. The smuggler could feel his body becoming typically lethargic after such intense physical exertion, and as he listened to Aelias' steady breathing beneath him he wondered if she had perhaps fallen asleep – hard to tell without her having eyes, yet again. Holland felt his own eyes begin to grow heavy, and though he usually made a point of avoiding falling asleep with the person he had just been with to avoid them staying any longer than necessary, it wasn't like either of them had anywhere else to go at the moment…

Suddenly, the entire ship shuddered, and Holland felt the distinct pull as they dropped out of hyperspace. He quickly sat up, confused; they should still have several more hours to Tython, so what was going on? "Are we already there?" Aelias asked, pushing herself up on her elbows and glancing sideways at the young captain.

Holland quickly shook his head, and before he could say anything, there was a metallic rapping on the door to his quarters. "Captain Holland, sir, I'm afraid you need to come out here!" he heard Rusty's distinct vocals calling through the door. "There's another—"

Rusty's voice was cut off as the ship pitched to the side quickly before stabilizing just as suddenly, throwing Holland off balance and back across Aelias rather ungracefully, and he heard a crashing sound in the corridor that he assumed was the droid losing its balance as well. Holland's eyes widened in shock and realization at what was happening. "Something hit us," he muttered a quick explanation as he jumped back to his feet, fumbling for his trousers and quickly pulling them on. Another loud bang followed by a distinct grinding sound betrayed his worst fears. "I think we're about to be boarded!" he offered as a quick explanation, grabbing his blasters and rushing into the corridor leaving Aelias in his wake – and slamming headfirst into Rusty.

Too concerned about the situation to be angry at his crash into the droid, Holland quickly pushed the machine back against the wall opposite him as he recovered. "Why didn't you tell me there was another ship? They couldn't have come out of nowhere!" he demanded from the droid even as he rushed down the corridor to the hatch to try to throw up as much additional security as possible. He didn't know anything about whoever might be trying to board them, but it was too late to escape if their ship was already attached to his, which it sounded like it was. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a bunch of pirates or scavengers or something.

"You don't like to be disturbed when you're in your personal quarters with a guest, sir," Rusty offered as an explanation as the protocol droid awkwardly followed him.

"Yeah, well, this is a bit of an emergency situation – I think you could have made an exception," Holland sputtered as he reached the hatch door. The sounds coming from the other side were definitely from another ship connecting to his, and he swore.

"Sir, you programmed me to not be able to override your orders," Rusty explained, "I am afraid I am unable to make 'exceptions' to any of the rules that you set..."

"Shut up!" Holland yelled at Rusty even as he heard the noises on the other side of the door cease – and then the sound of another door sliding open, followed by footsteps. The boy froze where he was, listening carefully. He felt the distinct presence of another and heard a hum of electricity, and glanced over his shoulder to see Aelias wearing his shirt, which nearly came down to her knees, and standing with both of her lightsabers drawn. He drew his own blasters then, holding his breath as he waited.

And then, the party on the other side of the hatch knocked. Holland blinked a few times in confusion – pirates and raiders weren't typically the type to knock so much as just burst in, vibroblades and blasters at the ready. "Open up!" a male voice demanded. Holland remained silent, unmoving, still extremely confused and angered by the entire situation and at being literally caught with his trousers down.

"By order of the Republic, if you don't want this door destroyed, and then open it up willingly!" the voice called again, and Holland felt his blood run cold in his veins. The…Republic? What would the Republic want with him and his ship? Of course most of his actions were hardly legal, but he had never done anything that directly affected the Republic itself as far as he knew. And why in Corellia would they be trying to board him?

Holland glanced back at the Miraluka, but she remained frozen behind him, lightsabers still drawn as she focused on the door. And that was when Holland made the connection – she was a Jedi. An obvious member of the Republic military. Was it her fault that the Republic was suddenly here literally on his doorstep? "Well?" he whispered to her, trying to keep his voice as low as possible, "Do we let your friends in?"

"We have little other choice," Aelias replied, her voice completely devoid of all emotion, thus not letting Holland guess if this was a good or a bad thing. He swore inwardly this time, knowing that it would have been better to just reject her after he found out she was a Jedi – he had been able to stay completely unconnected from this war up to this point, but he had been defeated by a pretty face. He glared at her, hoping to convey all of his feelings towards her through that expression, and then began to punch in all the security overrides for the hatch.

"Don't hurt the ship, I'm letting you in," Holland called through the door, not hiding his anger from his voice. When the door slid open, it revealed two men – one was tall and broad-shouldered, a cyborg like Holland, and wearing Republic-issued heavy armour and carrying an assault cannon over his shoulder. He had messy black hair and the beginnings of a dark beard, and his face was scarred in several places. The other had a much smaller build, still tall but very thin, and was wearing a full brown robe very similar to the one Aelias had been wearing that was currently in a pile on the floor outside of the kitchen still. His hood obscured most of his face.

Holland backed up a few steps as he let them enter, a bad feeling in his stomach as they boarded. Neither of them were even looking at him though – they both were focused on Aelias. The cloaked one threw back his hood, revealing short blonde hair and young features, and a simple black blindfold tied around his head. Another Miraluka…

"Aelias!" he exclaimed at the girl, his tone betraying his surprise. His entire head moved as he looked her up and down, probably taking in the fact that she was wearing nothing but an oversized man's shirt and didn't even have shoes on.

Aelias quickly extinguished her lightsabers, her expression still not betraying her feelings even as Holland stared at the scene wide-eyed and open-mouthed. "Sergeant," she said with a respectful nod towards the man in armour, and then, "…November," towards her fellow Miraluka. "What are you both doing here?"

When the male Miraluka still did not speak, the Republic trooper stepped forward. "Looking for you, Miss Aelias," he explained. Holland's attention was still focused on the man in the robe however, and he noted that his hands were forming into fists at his side. That wasn't a good sign, and he took a few more steps back, hoping against hope that he could just blend into the wall and disappear.

"Aelias, what's going on here?" the man she had called November finally spoke again, his tone dark and demanding as he glanced around, his gaze finally settling on Holland. "And who is this?"

"This is the man that was giving me passage back to Tython – I was on my way back to the Order when you stopped us," Aelias explained, taking a step towards her fellow Miraluka and placing a hand on his arm. "You didn't need to come and find me; I can handle myself." Her tone was almost as dark as his had been when she spoke, and then she took a step back once more.

"Holland, this is Sargeant Tiberius Stark of the Republic military," Aelias then offered rather formally, nodding towards the dark-haired man who gave a curt nod in the smuggler's direction. "And this is November, another member of the Jedi Order." She paused for a moment, and then added in a much softer voice, "He's my brother."

Just when the situation could not have gotten any more uncomfortable, those words slowly sunk into Holland's mind. Her brother. Another Jedi. Who didn't seem extremely happy. For the second time in less than twelve standard hours, Holland began to offer up prayers to those convenient Corellian gods, just hoping he was going to live through this. And wishing he was still sitting on Nar Shaddaa having a few drinks and wallowing in his own self-pity and lack of credits, because even that would be better than how this was probably going to end.

* * *

_Author's Notes _: Well there we have it! Nothing encourages me to keep writing as much as reviews do; please, tell me what was good AND what was bad! I really want to write real expanded universe someday, so I'm open to hear whatever opinions anyone has to say. Thanks for reading and keep watch for chapter two...


	2. Antony

Author's Note: I wrote most of this working midnight shifts at my job, so please excuse the fact that it's a bit more aggressive maybe? I don't know. I really hate that shift but I find it really inspiring for writing. Anyway, 'Antony' and 'Xilia' were changed from 'Tin'tin' and 'Snowyy' which are mine and my friend's actual _TOR _characters this was based from (as well as her character Alister) but the names were changed for the sake of this story for good reason.

Adult themes still abound in this chapter (and every one following this, I can guarantee...)

Disclaimer: I still don't own Star Wars or there would be more sex, clearly.

* * *

_Chapter Two – Antony_

Antony took a long, slow drag of his smoke, known commonly on the street as a 'death stick,' as he patiently waited. He wasn't usually much of one for smoking – it was dirty, and he hated how the stale smell seemed to cling to everything, but he did it now and again in situations like this. Situations where he was just waiting. He had learned the habit from imitating his eldest brother when he had been growing up, and even though he had not seen his brother in years, the habit had remained.

"I didn't know you smoked," a groggy voice said softly, and Antony glanced down at the woman resting on his chest. Her skin still glistened slightly with sweat as did his own as she lightly traced a few of the visible scars on his chest with her fingertips.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," Antony responded coolly, feigning a common accent that most people native to Nar Shaddaa would have to cover his actual one. He made no effort to return her touch.

She laughed, lightly kissing his still sensitized skin. "Oh, I don't doubt that," she said, a bit too mischievously for Antony.

When her hands ventured below his waist, he quickly shifted his hips away from her. "Too tired," he lied, taking another draw of the smoke before putting it out on the surface of the table next to the bed. He already had what he wanted, and had no desire to be with this woman again when it was not necessary.

She whimpered rather pathetically but wisely listened to him, returning to simply stroking his chest. Antony rolled his eyes and resumed waiting, though a bit less patiently now. Eventually the woman finally fell asleep, though, and once he was certain she was sleeping soundly, he moved her off of him and rose silently from the bed.

The man dressed quickly, changing back into his light armour and rearming himself – a small close range pistol on his hip, a proper rifle over his shoulder, and a shiv in his boot. His slight frame, while it aided to his subtlety and agility, offered him little physical prowess; thus, he hated being unarmed, even when he was 'working.' Once he was fully dressed, he glanced back at the woman still in the bed, noting that she was still asleep. His training in the arts of stealth and silence never went to waste.

Wasting no further time, Antony began to search through the woman's discarded clothing for what he knew was there somewhere. After a bit of searching, he finally found the key card that he needed, and he quickly pocked it with a smirk. This was all too easy.

Now he just had to tie up a few loose ends.

Antony was deep in Gauntlet Gang territory on an assignment to remove a high ranking leader that had managed to cheat the Empire out of a few very expensive shipments by bribing ship captains and guards, and hijacking entire docking bays in Imperial territory. Usually the Empire stayed out of the dealings of the local gangs, not wasting their time and resources on a war that was never going to end – but when the gangs left their territory and made the Empire lose money, exceptions were made. No one crossed Imperials and got away with it, especially when it involved credits.

Thus, the decision had been made by local Imperial leadership that the direct source of the problem had to be eliminated. After interrogating a few captured hijackers that had fallen into a cleverly laid trap, an Inquisitor had learned not only the name of the man – he was simply known as Rex – behind the attacks, but also the name of his girlfriend and where to find her. The Inquisitor had also learned that the man hardly ever left the deepest parts of the gang's territory, so infiltration was the best option.

That was where Antony had come in. He had been on Nar Shaddaa on a different assignment entirely when it had been decided for him that his particular skill set was best suited to the job. Antony was a cipher agent – an operative for Imperial Intelligence that typically embarked on the most dangerous field assignments that called for an exceptional prowess in the arts of subtlety, deception, seduction, infiltration, and survival. Antony was still young at 25, and had only been recently promoted to the position, but thus far he had not disappointed.

While not particularly much of an assassin per say, the finesse and stealth that this job required made excellent use of Antony's other skills. Initially the Inquisitor that had gathered all the information for the assignment had wanted to go herself, but the Empire wasn't looking for a bloodbath or to start a proper war with the gang – they merely wanted to eliminate the problem directly and flaunt that they had the power to get to anyone if provoked. Sending in a Sith Assassin would indeed guarantee the death of the gang leader, but likely at the cost of a slaughter. Thus the assignment had been given to Antony – take out Rex with as little collateral damage as possible, and don't get caught himself.

The Empire never negotiated for hostages, least of all agents.

Antony already knew the plan before the local law enforcement had told it to him – find the girlfriend at the cantina she frequented, get her to take him deep into Gauntlet territory without resistance, and obtain her pass card to make it the rest of the way to his target. The agent's ability to shamelessly flirt coupled with a charming personality (when he wanted to show it) and young, attractive features landed him more assignments of this nature than most – because he nearly always succeeded. He knew Intelligence was exploiting him, but in this particular area, he didn't mind very much.

The girlfriend had been exactly where the hijackers had said she would be, and it only took a bit of direct flirting and a few drinks Antony would later write off as 'mission expenses' to get the invite that he was looking for. It was incredible how disloyal people could be to their mates, especially after they had a few drinks in them.

She had taken the agent safely into Gauntlet territory just like he knew she would to where she lived, and through a few well-timed questions like, "What if your boyfriend comes back?" Antony had learned even more. His target would be in the backroom of a Gauntlet-run cantina playing sabaac for the next several hours with his closest friends. While that was not an ideal set-up for a murder, at least the knowledge eliminated Antony having to do any unnecessary searching that may lead to his being discovered. A bit of teasing that Rex apparently needed a bit of time away from his girlfriend which was why they had been spending their evening in two separate cantinas had earned him the information that her personal pass card gave her access to the private room if she so chose. Antony asked nothing further in regard to his target, knowing that talking about her boyfriend while preparing to sleep with another man may change her mind – and he had almost everything he wanted, anyway.

With the key card in his pocket and the target's location in his mind, Antony stared at the sleeping woman with a frown. This was usually the moment when he would slip away, erasing her face from his memory and moving forward with the assignment. However, this particular woman was leaving him with an uneasy feeling in his stomach, and he had learned to never disregard those. She had a needy, selfish, and overwhelming personality, and those traits had carried over to how she behaved intimately as well and made her a mediocre lover at best. Antony was concerned that when her boyfriend turned up dead, she wouldn't be afraid to talk about him to anyone. The agent had a few distinct features, like his deep red hair and the scar across his face, and the last thing he needed was for people in the gang circuit on a planet he worked on often to be talking about him.

Loose ends indeed – she wouldn't be much of a loss for the galaxy, anyway.

Thus the young man drew his blaster pistol and approached the woman's sleeping form. Aiming to give her a quick death, he said, "The Empire thanks you for your cooperation," this time in his actual curt, upper-class Imperial accent. She woke up long enough to see his smirk before he gave her a simple and clean, yet personally satisfying, death.

Antony quickly left her small flat, doubting that blasterfire in this area would even draw a second glance but not wanting to linger all the same. He had seen the cantina on the way in, so he walked with casual purpose hoping to blend in on the short walk, though he luckily ran into no one. The stolen pass card gained him access to the cantina, and once inside, everyone was too preoccupied with their own forms of entertainment to even look at him. After quickly scanning the main room, he found what he assumed to be the door to the backroom he was looking for – the one with two armed guards posted at it. He cursed inwardly; everything had been going so smoothly up to this point, but the universe never cut anyone a break, least of all him.

He had to think quickly. Antony approached the guards with a feigned casual, confident swagger, flashing them a smile as he neared them. "Fellas!" he said in greeting, returning to his falsified accent as he made the pass card in his hand clearly visible, "Sorry I'm a bit late for the game – too late to go in?"

The guards both eyed him suspiciously before glancing sideways at one another. Antony made sure his smile never faltered as the guards held a silent conversation together. Finally, one of the guards nodded to the other after what felt like to the agent like a small lifetime before disappearing through the door. "Gotta check with the boss first, pretty boy," the remaining guard explained gruffly.

"Yes, of course," Antony replied, forcing a small laugh at the man's obvious insult. "You can never be too safe these days, even amongst friends."

The guard's expression didn't change, and the two spent the next several minutes sharing an uncomfortable silence until the other guard finally returned. "You can go," he said simply, but the look of satisfaction on his face did not get past Antony's keen observation and he immediately became wary.

It was too late to turn back, though, and Antony never left a job unfinished if he could help it. Besides, the Empire would never get another chance at this. So he stepped forward, still feigning confidence, and slid his pass card to open the door. As he entered the small, dimly lit room, he saw five other men all seated around a sabaac table, and all looking at him. The one farthest from him fit the description of Rex. And all of them were grinning, though none more than the crime lord himself. As the door slid shut behind him, Antony knew he was trapped, but he maintained his composure – he had gotten out of many tight situations before, and he could do it again…

"Welcome, _friend_," Rex said, putting extra emphasis on the latter word as he templed his fingers beneath his chin. "Only one other person has a pass card for this room – and quite frankly, she doesn't look like you."

The false grin fell from Antony's expression – there was no point in continuing to lie when the evidence to the contrary was so clearly stacked against him. "You must be Rex," he said smoothly, crossing his arms over his chest. "You might want to start looking for a new girlfriend, by the way – she wasn't very loyal to you."

Rex immediately jumped up from his seat at the agent's words, the entire table jarring with the action. "Just who do you think you are?" he demanded angrily, "You think you can just walk in here, lie to my guards, crash my private party, and then talk like that about my girl?"

"Looks like I just did," Antony replied smugly, remaining calm personally despite the other man's demeanour.

Antony's response earned him Rex's blaster pointed directly at his face, and the other men soon followed their leader and did the same. "Stay away from my girl," Rex snarled.

"That shouldn't be hard, considering our last encounter ended with her becoming closely acquainted with my blaster," Antony replied coolly. A few years of experience with this type of encounter prepared the agent for what would inevitably come next – the barrage of blaster bolts. Antony was already dodging when the first shot was fired, missing him by precious milliseconds. All through their exchange the agent had been carefully examining the room, trying to figure out exactly how he would survive this. He rolled behind the nearest unused playing table and immediately fired a few shots from his own blaster rifle.

He only aimed one of the shots – directly between Rex's eyes. He didn't get a chance to see if any of his other shots found targets because the door he had entered through then opened, the guards adding their own blaster fire to the array once they saw what was unfolding in the room. Antony had not been anticipating their entrance, and though he rolled to dodge again when he heard the door open, two bolts still managed to graze him – one across his ribs and the other his left arm just below the shoulder. Antony let out an involuntary grunt of pain and surprise, but forced himself to quickly focus again. He was rapidly losing control of the situation at this rate.

Antony quickly crawled under the table, escaping the range of the blasters for a few moments as he cursed aloud at his predicament and the pain shooting through his body. A quick glance confirmed at least two bodies were on the floor, and one of them was definitely Rex's. That meant Antony's only remaining priority was to get out with his life. With his left arm burning, he struggled to put his rifle back over his shoulder, knowing the two-handed weapon would do him little good at the moment. Instead, he drew his pistol, and then darted out from his cover heading straight for the door, and firing blindly behind him.

The young man erupted into the main part of the cantina without further injury, and took advantage of everyone's confusion to never slow down as he pounded for the exit as fast as he could run. He heard yelling behind him but he never chanced looking back. As soon as he exited the building he immediately turned right and then right again, doubling back around the cantina via an alley along the side, and continued to dodge down alleys at random until he finally had put a bit of distance between himself and the cantina.

Once he was out of sight, Antony ducked behind a cluster of plasteel holding containers to catch his breath, clutching at his injured side. He was not so naïve as to think he was safe, though – he was still in Gauntlet territory and it was hard to tell how many were now pursuing him. He could still hear yelling in the distance after all, and it sounded like it was getting closer by the moment; this mission had not gone smoothly at all. With a grunt, Antony pulled a small kolto injection from his pocket, shooting it into his injured shoulder and feeling the pain begin to ease a bit. He only had one dose with him, and regaining the use of both arms at least to some degree was definitely a priority even as his side burned considerably worse. He took a few deep breaths to try to slow his heart rate a bit, and then activated his personal stealth field generator.

To maintain his stealth he would need to move slowly and avoid getting too close to anyone, lest he be discovered – and he doubted he would be able to escape a second time. It would be a long trip out, but at least he now had a chance of escaping with his life.

* * *

"What was that, exactly?"

Antony stared past the official interrogating him at the wall behind the angry woman. A medical droid was attending to his wounds at the same time – the burns from the blasterfire would take a few days to heal, but it could have been much worse. By some standards, Antony was lucky, but he hardly counted himself as such at the moment.

"Agent. Are you even listening to me?" her voice sounded exasperated.

"I already delivered a full report of the incident to Imperial Intelligence, and the target is dead," Antony finally replied dryly, his cold blue eyes meeting the woman's defiantly.

"But what _happened_?" she repeated her question, "You were meant to eliminate the target and solve the source of our problem without causing unnecessary chaos! Now the Gauntlets are in an uproar – there are multiple witnesses that know your face, and you caused an all-out fire-fight in a cantina. They're going to be nothing but trouble for the Empire now until they calm down – _if _they calm down – and you can't even work this planet anymore!"

Antony rolled his eyes. "I think that's a bit of an exaggeration," he replied in a monotone, "And they were going to be angry about Rex's death no matter what."

"I don't like your attitude, Agent," the woman retorted, "and you are in no position to argue right now. You came highly recommended, and yet I must say your performance was very disappointing."

Antony's eyes immediately narrowed dangerously at her, beginning to feel his own anger mounting. She was speaking to him like he was a child, a rookie back from a failed field assignment, rather than a respected cipher agent. And she wasn't even from Intelligence, anyway! "I don't answer to you," Antony said darkly.

The woman met his glare with her own. "You boys from Intelligence think you're so special…" she began, but when Antony moved to stand, she seemed to think differently and trailed off. She stopped, clearing her throat, and instead said, "Well, you are going to be answering to _someone_, so don't congratulate yourself on a job well done this time."

"Please, sir, you need to relax for me to properly treat you," the medical droid interrupted, and Antony realized how tense his entire body had become.

"I'm leaving," the agent then declared, abruptly rising despite the protests of the droid, which he completely ignored. He didn't like droids, anyway, and he did not want to be around this woman any longer. "Just shut up," he finally snapped at the droid, losing his cool composure for a moment as he shrugged his shirt back on. He winced as pain shot through his body, but he could take care of the remainder of his wounds himself, and anything would be better than staying. He didn't give the woman a second glance as he left the small building in the Imperial controlled area of the moon, headed towards the taxi that would take him back to the spaceport with a determined stride.

"I heard you really made a mess of things," a familiar voice called out, bringing Antony to a halt. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before turning to face the speaker, forcing his face to be expressionless. His gaze fell on the Sith human woman standing just outside the doorway he had just exited. Her fiery eyes that betrayed how deeply she had fallen to the Dark Side contrasted with her sun-kissed, tan skin and ebony hair. She was also sneering at him – no surprise there.

"I should have guessed that you were the Inquisitor that managed to extract all that information," Antony replied dryly, "You're always very…thorough."

The Sith flashed a wicked grin at his words. "They wanted the best, so they called me. They clearly should have let me finish what I started, though. You wasted my information." Her tone showed she was serious, and the agent didn't doubt that she believed her own words.

"Let it go, Xilia," Antony replied coldly, feeling a small rush of satisfaction when he saw her bristle at the casual use of her first name. Antony had little respect for the hierarchy of the Sith – while he respected that they were powerful warriors and sorcerers, he didn't see how that made them so incredibly _special_ and apparently better than everyone else in the Empire. People like him, 'Force blind' individuals that did all the real dirty work, were what really kept the Empire together, after all. Thus, he had little respect for Force users. And he had learned that Xilia especially took great pride in her 'Lord' title, which made it all the more satisfying to completely ignore it. It wasn't easy to get under the woman's skin, after all, so he had to take what he could. "The target is dead, simple. I did my job."

"I've heard you made quite a scene of it, though, and turned the Gauntlets completely against the Empire," she countered casually.

"The Gauntlets never liked the Empire, so I'm hardly responsible for that," Antony replied, hands clasped behind his back defiantly, showing he did not fear arguing with her as many people did. "You seem have been 'hearing' quite a lot of things lately, though; I never knew you to be one for listening to trivial rumours in the first place."

"These are a bit more than rumours, Antony," Xilia replied. "A lot of people are talking about the chaos one cipher agent managed to cause singlehandedly."

"Sometimes I impress even myself," Antony replied sarcastically. "Are we done here?"

Xilia's eyes narrowed. "Are you going back to Dromund Kaas?" she asked.

"Ah, so you actually wanted something more than just a rare chance to just point out my mistakes?" Antony quickly asked back, a knowing, dark look in his eyes. "I should have known you wanted something else, though I suppose I would not have been entirely surprised either way."

"I knew you would have to report back to Headquarters, so this seemed logical," Xilia replied, taking a few steps towards him. "My own ship is still being repaired after a small space battle, and I had to take an Imperial freighter to get here. I would rather not have that experience again."

"So you just want my ship," Antony understood exactly where this was going, and he was unsure how he felt about it. While they had worked together in the past on several missions, and did share a history, they had never crossed the line of entering one another's personal space – and yet, that was what she was asking. He knew her reasoning was practical if she was going to the same destination he was, and he frankly didn't blame her for not wanting to be stuck on a freighter burdened down with goods and droids again. However, he was cautious about letting her into that part of his life, even if she was just using him again…it was a dangerous game to play.

"Not much gets past you, Agent," Xilia's reply brought the man's focus back to the present. "Take me back to Dromund Kaas with you, and I will make it worth your time."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

* * *

Antony took her right in the cockpit, bent over the navicomputer. As usual, she was relatively silent aside from her heavy breaths even as the man pounded into her, one hand holding her hip in place and the other pressing into her back to hold her down. Her own hands gripped the sides of the terminal with a white-knuckled intensity as she let him do as he pleased – a rare privilege that Antony was taking full advantage of.

Upon entering the ship – albeit had been begrudgingly on Antony's part – the agent had headed straight for the cockpit, typing in the familiar coordinates for the Imperial capitol world quickly. He just wanted to get to Dromund Kaas, get Xilia off of his ship, and explain the entire situation to Keeper, his superior, so that he could put it all behind him. After the ship had broken the atmosphere of Nar Shaddaa, Antony had had full intentions to tend to his still throbbing wounds in the small medical bay – but Xilia had been waiting, standing in the doorway, and the look in her fiery eyes was one Antony had no desire to deny.

The nature of the relationship between the Sith Lord and the Cipher Agent was complicated at best. They had started as unlikely partners working together on Alderaan several months previously, and their relationship had escalated to a physical one not long afterwards. There was no commitment, no accountability, nothing like that. Xilia had become the one exception that Antony made when it came to women – he never returned to them for seconds. And yet he had with her, and for far more than seconds. He knew he was addicted to her; she was like spice, and he kept going back even when he knew it wasn't good for him, despite his typically clear judgement. And she returned to him, too – only when she needed him, using him as a toy for her own pleasure and satisfaction, but he was no better, guilty of the same thing.

And he liked that she always came back for more.

Their encounters were always fiery, typically aggressive – the type that left marks, and the type that one could still feel the effects of the next day. They often battled for dominance, each more concerned with making themselves feel good more than concerned with their partner, and yet each still wanted to be remembered. It was dangerous, what they did, but that only made it better. Xilia fought back when most women didn't, and Antony wasn't afraid of her as many men were.

And that was why their arrangement worked.

But this time – this time was a bit different. They were on Antony's ground entirely rather than somewhere neutral, and Xilia seemed to understand that, maybe even respect it, Antony didn't care which. But she didn't initiate as she often did; she had just stood in the doorway with _that look_, and the agent had pounced on her without a second thought. After the frustration of his mission and the ensuing conversation with the local Imperial leadership, he let himself go.

For once, he just wanted to be lost in the moment.

The flight between Nar Shaddaa and Dromund Kaas was not a long one for the Phantom-class starship, but they didn't need any more than what they had. Foreplay was generally lost on them, and desperate, aggressive hands soon found both of them naked against one another anyway. Antony's hands securely rested on the Sith's waist as hers tugged at his red hair. The agent was kissing her even rougher than usual, and it didn't take long for Xilia to notice.

When they pulled apart for a moment, each gasping for breath, the Sith said the first words either of them had spoken since they had boarded the ship. "I know you're angry about what happened, Antony," she breathed even as the man's eyes focused hungrily on her swollen lips, "I can feel it in you – show it to me. You failed; show me your anger."

Antony's gaze lifted to hers, icy blue locking with blazing orange. "I already told you I didn't fail," he growled through clenched teeth at her, feeling the frustration at her words and the memories from the day that she had forced back to the surface coming to a peak. He _was _angry, she was right about that, and if she wanted to see that…fine.

"Shut up," he then said coldly to her even though she had said nothing else, and be abruptly spun her towards the navicomputer, pushing her down face-first on it as her dark hair splayed around her head on the screen.

When he entered her, he didn't do it gently. He wanted her to be sore – he wanted the grip he had on her to leave bruises. He wanted to have her until he couldn't remember what had happened, until he wasn't thinking about what was to come. He gave into his anger, letting it fuel him and push him and he held nothing back. Somewhere in the very back of his mind, he knew Xilia was letting him do this or it wouldn't be happening, but he ignored that part of him.

He needed to feel like he was taking this from her – he needed to feel in _control _again.

When he finally reached his release, Antony's teeth bit into Xilia's shoulder to smother any sound he may have made, and then he collapsed on her. He didn't know if she had found her own release or not, and he didn't care. The Sith allowed him a few deep breaths while he had her pinned there before she pushed him off as she rolled onto her back, laughing – it was a dark sound that left the hairs on the back of Antony's neck standing on end.

Antony had stumbled for a moment when she had removed him from her, but he recovered relatively quickly, collapsing into the pilot's chair. He stared at her until her laughter finally dissipated, and was relieved when she finally stopped, though he remained silent. He didn't know why she was laughing, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Excellent," Xilia finally spoke herself, taking a deep breath before she stood up, brushing past Antony as she headed for the door, a guarded look on her face. "Tell me when we arrive at Kaas City – and Force, take care of those blaster burns."

Antony didn't know if he felt better, or much, much worse.

* * *

Antony passed the remainder of the journey in solitude. Xilia had evidently let herself into the seldom-used crew quarters near the rear of the ship and had sealed the door, and Antony had no desire to disturb whatever she was doing in there. He spent this own time getting all of the records from his mission on Nar Shaddaa in order, calculating expenditures and deciding what details needed recorded and what needed ignored. It was the only part of his job he really didn't care for, but he understood the necessity of it and thus dutifully completed his tasks.

When he felt the ship drop out of hyperspace, Antony returned to the cockpit. He didn't bother to retrieve Xilia; she would have felt the ship stop as well and would join him if she wanted, but he needed no one else. He typically did all of his missions solo when possible, and preferred it that way, and had thus learned how to handle the ship alone several years ago.

When the options for a specified landing zone on Dromund Kaas appeared, Antony quickly found the main spaceport at the capitol of Kaas City. It wasn't long before he was approved for a landing bay there, and the ship was settled within the spaceport in less than an hour. Only when Antony was headed towards the ship's exit, absently straightening the Imperial uniform he had changed into, did the Sith Lord finally emerge.

"We're here," Antony said unnecessarily without looking at her, still headed towards the door.

"Obviously," was Xilia's dry reply as she fell in behind him, and he rolled his eyes at her response as they exited the ship together. "I've never seen you actually wear a proper uniform," she then added, and the agent could tell from her mocking tone that she found it rather amusing for some reason.

"I couldn't hardly report in still looking like space trash," Antony replied with a smirk, referring to the well-used, light armour he had been wearing to blend in during his mission. "I am a professional, you forget. And besides, I happen to look quite smart in this." He straightened the jacket a bit more to emphasize his point.

Xilia simply scoffed, but he could tell she was amused. They passed through the rest of the spaceport in silence. Most of the workers in the building gave them a wide berth when possible – many were likely slaves that recognized Xilia as a Sith, and thus conditioned to move as far out of her way as possible. Antony simply shook his head – so much of the Empire just bowed before the Sith without question, and he never failed to be unimpressed.

When they arrived at the taxi that would take them from the spaceport in the jungle to the outskirts of Kaas City itself, Xilia walked ahead of the agent, clearly meaning to finish the remainder of her journey alone – just as well. The two had little more to say to one another that wasn't another argument, anyway, as usual. As Xilia climbed into the next available taxi, forgoing the queue that had been waiting there entirely, Antony frowned slightly. "You're welcome – for the free ride," he called after her, a bit disappointed that she did not acknowledge what he had done for her at least in a small way.

"No, Antony – _you're _welcome," the Sith Lord replied with a smirk over her shoulder, and then she was gone, the speeder taking her presumably to wherever her business on Dromund Kaas lay.

Antony soon did the same, a bitter taste in his mouth at the implication of Xilia's salutation. Of course she had just been using him, as she always did, and he had known that; he had done little more than use her himself, after all. But he couldn't help but feel this time, this wasn't the end – if she felt he owed her something, she would certainly come and claim it. And he did not like being indebted to anyone, especially not a Sith, and least of all Xilia.

But that was something he would have to deal with later, because as the familiar jungle of the Imperial planet sped past him, Antony knew he needed to focus his thoughts on the upcoming meeting. Of course he had made his report through the secure holonetwork back on Nar Shaddaa, but even then Keeper had demanded he report in person – he hadn't needed that Imperial officer to tell him that much. He intended to try his best to use his silver tongue to paint over the situation at least a little, but Xilia had been right – he may have eliminated Rex, but the mission wasn't successful. And with everyone on Nar Shaddaa in an uproar, the agent new he wouldn't be able to get away from this without some sort of punishment. He could only hope it was something small; Antony had never handled being reprimanded well.

Antony played the story he intended to tell over and over again in his head, carefully perfecting the details and considering how he would respond to anything he could think Keeper might say. When the speeder stopped at Kaas City, the young agent felt confident that he would be able to talk his way out of any real punishment, and had convinced himself that he was far too much of an asset to Intelligence to not be sent on another important mission soon, anyway – and then he could move on and leave all this behind him.

As he walked through the streets of Kaas City towards the internal taxi that would take him to Intelligence Headquarters, Antony's mind was running in overtime, so he forced himself to calm down and focus on something other than the mission and Xilia for a few minutes. Instead, he took in the sights of the city around him that he usually took for granted and hardly ever noticed after many years spent there.

While Antony's family were minor Alderannian nobility in lineage, he had been born and raised on Dromund Kaas himself. His parents had been fiercely loyal to the Empire, and after the birth of his first two brothers, they had decided to leave their disputed home planet of Alderaan for the seat of the Empire itself. Because of the money and power they brought with them, as well as their strong past loyalties, they were able to obtain a very respectable estate not terribly far from Kaas City itself, and shortly thereafter had been granted Imperial citizenship. Thus, Antony's third and final brother, as well as himself, had been born right on Dromund Kaas. His upbringing had been a mix of traditional Alderaanian culture and the newer Imperial values, both of which had shaped him into who he now was.

Since being recruited into Intelligence, Antony had moved into a small flat within the walls of the city, though he was rarely around to actually make use of it and his ship had been more of a home to him than anywhere else. And despite the proximity to his family's estate, he had not visited in at least three standard years. While he had hardly had a bad childhood, and really had been raised in a world of great privilege by most standards, he had far too many disputes with his parents to desire remaining in contact with them when he didn't need to be.

Being the youngest of four brothers had never been easy, and Antony had no desire to go home and be reminded of his status like he had been his entire life. His parents were listed as his primary contacts should he be killed in action and were the ones who would receive his effects, and that was more than enough of a relationship for him.

His observations revealed that not much seemed to have changed about Kaas City from what Antony could remember about his childhood, to his disappointment. Thankfully, the walk at his usual brisk pace to the taxi was short, and no one gave him a second glance now that he was not accompanied by Xilia – again, thankfully. By the time he arrived at Intelligence, he felt clear-minded once more, and headed straight for Keeper's office in the back of the building with the perfect story in mind.

However, when he arrived, the door was closed and Keeper apparently occupied for the time being. Antony frowned, crossing his arms over his chest as he resigned himself to waiting for the moment – as much as he hated being reminded that Intelligence did not revolve around him. He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting, until he became aware of another person coming down the corridor towards him. He glanced sideways and his eyes immediately narrowed into a glare as his gaze fell on the absolute last person he had wanted to see in the entire galaxy at that moment.

Alister Zeurig, a fellow Cipher Agent a few years' Antony's senior. And, as Antony had painfully found out somewhat recently – Xilia's older brother. While the two had never spoken until their most recent encounter, Antony had known the older man's face from seeing him around Intelligence fairly often, and had heard his name associated with positive outcomes in missions on several occasions. However, their most recent encounter had ended with Antony being on the receiving end of quite a powerful punch in the face – surprisingly, the first he had ever received. Naturally, he hardly felt he had deserved it – Xilia could make her own decisions, and her time spent with the red-haired agent was hardly Alister's business, anyway. Antony had not moved on yet from what he had felt was an immature and unwarranted attempt at punishment and humiliation that had spawned from misplaced jealously and protectiveness. And judging from the look in Alister's blue eyes when they met Antony's, his own feelings had not changed, either.

"Not quite so smooth this time, were you, Antony?" Alister said snidely as he approached. He had the same tan skin and ebony hair that Xilia did, but Alister kept his hair cropped short, slicked back out of his face in a very practical style. He also wore a formal uniform, but Antony felt he looked much less comfortable and confident in it than he himself did.

The young agent gritted his teeth, feeling anger instantly flare through his system at the knowledge that other people already knew what had happened before he had been able to paint over some of the details. However, his face remained straight and emotionless, only his eyes still glaring to betray his internal emotions – it was a sill he had developed over many years of practise. "Force, mind your own kriffing business for once, Alister, instead of sticking your nose in mine." His tone was dangerous.

"My my, language, Antony," Alister replied with a dark grin, shaking his head slowly. Antony hated how much he seemed to be enjoying this. "No need to be so brash. Is that a bit of a sensitive issue then?" He was pressing Antony, and a cruel grin spread across the older agent's face.

Antony wanted nothing more than to beat that look off the other man, but he restrained the urge for the moment. "Frip off, I'm just here to see Keeper, not be interrogated by you in the corridor," he replied darkly.

"We'll see if you're still a cipher agent by the end of the day," Alister replied, "I certainly won't miss seeing you around here – and I doubt anyone else will, either. Your type has no place working in Intelligence. This isn't a game to be played by boys, after all." With that, he turned to leave, apparently having either had his fill or finally taking the hint that he was pushing the younger man too far.

Antony didn't care what exactly his 'type' was meant to be – it didn't matter, because if Alister was looking for a fight, he had found one. "You don't need to miss me, because your sister always does that, you know," he called after the older agent, arms defiantly crossed over his chest. "I just gave her a lift planetside, actually – it was quite a nice trip. Rather pleasurable, if I do say so myself."

His words earned him exactly the reaction he had been looking for; Alister had spun on his heel and was headed straight for Antony, the look in his eyes fierce. "Shut up!" he cried out, cool composure lost entirely, "I made myself quite clear last time that you needed to stay away from Xilia, you little womp rat, but apparently your thick skull does not have the ability to learn a lesson the first time!" He stopped mere centimetres away from Antony, his breaths coming in deep huffs.

"While I may admittedly be stubborn sometimes, that's not the issue right now," Antony replied with a smirk, "I'm just not afraid of you like you seem to think I should be, and I never listen to people I don't respect."

Alister looked as though he was going to retort again, but he took a slow, deep breath instead, regaining a cool head. "You aren't worth my time, boy," he remarked, once more turning to leave.

"I'll be sure to tell Xilia hello for you the next time I see her," Antony replied, still smirking. He didn't have time to see if he had managed to rile the superior agent up again, however, because the door to Keeper's office opened at long last.

"Cipher Agent Starkhaven," an official voice called from within the office, and Antony took a deep breath, willing himself to enter the room with his usual arrogant confidence. However, he couldn't help but feel like he was back in his Academy days being called to the Headmaster's office for one reason or another. It wasn't a nice memory. Somehow though he did manage to maintain his typical confident air as he entered, adrenaline from his encounter with Alister pumping through his veins and giving him energy. When he entered, he saw not only Keeper, but a few other high-ranking agents all in the room – as well as, to the agent's dismay, a commander from the Imperial Army.

"What was all that nonsense I heard in the corridor, Agent?" Keeper asked, chin resting on folded hands at his desk.

"Nothing, just a few younger agents arguing," Antony replied casually.

"I see…" Keeper replied slowly as his eyes narrowed. His voice sounded strained. "Well, I hope you have all the lying out of your system now, Agent, because from his point on I want the truth. The whole truth."

"The entire situation has been blown to a ludicrous level and everyone is severely overreacting," Antony immediately jumped on the defensive, feeling threatened as he shook his head – he really did not see how this had become such a big deal! And there were few things he hated being challenged more than his skills at his job.

"The units on Nar Shaddaa are in an uproar, Antony," Keeper continued coolly, "and they are crying out for punishment. I'm afraid we can't ignore that many voices and risk straining the relationship between Intelligence and the military," he nodded towards the solider in the room, "any farther."

"I did what I was assigned and eliminated the target," Antony replied stubbornly, "It was hardly my fault that he was surrounded by his thugs in a closed room."

"You could have waited for a better time to perform the assassination," the soldier suddenly interrupted, his voice deeper than Antony had been expecting, and deadly serious.

"You know that wasn't an option," the Cipher Agent replied, directing the statement directly at Keeper before adding, "Not that I expect the military to understand the complexity of the situation." He could feel the commander's glare without even having to look at him.

"Well, as you said yourself, it's all very complicated," Keeper quickly intervened, massaging his temples in obvious frustration, "I understand that you did what you had to – though there were some reports that the girlfriend was found naked and dead by a close-range blaster shot to the head in her bed, but I'm not going to ask about that – but I can't just overlook this. The Gauntlets are causing more problems instead of less and the local military say it's your fault." He quickly held up his hand, demanding silence when Antony opened his mouth to argue. "With your record, they expected much better, and quite frankly you failed to deliver.

"The blame has to fall on someone, and today, it's you, Agent. I like your work and I know you are generally good at what you do even if you're insufferable at times, so I fought to find you a fair punishment while still keeping you in the field."

Keeper paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in as all eyes focused on Antony. The young agent could barely contain his anger, but he forced his expression to remain painfully stoic. None of this was his fault – he had only been given the assignment at all because he happened to be there, so what expectations did anyone have the right to even have? And he clearly could not have waited for a better time because he was already on dangerous ground being in Gauntlet territory in the first place, and the woman's information and assistance had been time sensitive. In Antony's personal opinion, he had handled things quite well considering the circumstances – it wasn't like he had shot everyone in the cantina or something rash. And yet here he was, being forced to shoulder all the blame singlehandedly. "Am I meant to be grateful, then?" Antony asked sarcastically, eyes locked with Keeper's in an unblinking stare.

"It would do you well to be grateful now and again," Keeper replied, holding Antony's gaze, "A lot of people wanted to see you sacked but I fought otherwise. You're still going to work for Intelligence, but no longer as a Cipher Agent."

"What?!" Antony exclaimed despite the silencing hand he was still being given.

"Shut up, I'm far too tired to deal with your attitude right now, Antony, especially when I'm trying to help you and put my own neck out for you!" Keeper snapped back before his professional tone took over once more. "In the meantime, you are going to be assigned to Coruscant as a long-term undercover agent in the Republic Senate. If you can handle that posting without any further issues, then you will have your rank – and the accompanying pay – restored, as well as your more usual field assignments for the Empire. Watcher Two has all the details for your new assignment, so please see her on your way out. No one is happy with this, but it really is for the best."

For once, Antony was actually stunned into silence. Coruscant? The centre of the Republic? In the _Senate_?! He was going to be stuck doing clerical work and eavesdropping and nothing more! His freedom had been taken away as well as all of his hard work up to that point to earn him his current reputation – all of it, gone. Everything was going to change. _Everything_.

"You've got to be kriffing kidding me."

Author's Note: If you're interested in reading a bit more about Antony and Xila's relationship, check my one-shot '_**Nothing More than a Game**_' which centres on an encounter between them. It's M-rated for serious reasons.


End file.
